


Name and Identity

by RandomPanda



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Canon Compliant, identity crisis, some canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomPanda/pseuds/RandomPanda
Summary: When Alm set out to join the Deliverance, the last thing he expected to do was question his own identity. However, one casual conversation opens a flood gate he's not sure how to close. And the farther he travels, the more the questions haunt him."You know who you are, don't you?""I'm not sure I do.""Think back on your life. What do you remember?"





	Name and Identity

**Author's Note:**

> This story is meant to act as a supplement to the game. Spoilers for the whole game abound.

When he left home, he knew who he was.

 _My name is Alm_. _I’m Mycen’s grandson_. _I come from Ram Village_. Once Lukas welcomed him and his friends from the village, Alm could add, _I’m a member of the Deliverance_. No other feat prior made him more proud, but he regretted missing a chance to tell his grandfather good-bye in person. Nonetheless, he dove all in to liberate Zofia from the hold of Rigel. At long last, he could put those years of training to use.

The first change occurred soon after meeting Clive. The man ceded leadership to Alm, which caused a rift. _Wretched farm child_ , a bitter nobleman called him. The label wouldn’t stick longer than the few minutes Clive and the nobleman spent arguing. Once the man deserted, and everyone went on the march, it began to sink in for Alm: _I’m the leader of the Deliverance_.

A small change in terms of words, but large enough to leave him somewhat unbalanced. He’d intended to fit in where he could, not take the reins of the rebel army himself. Clive wouldn’t lose an opportunity to see Mycen’s grandson lead them, however, and Alm didn’t want to let anyone down—least of all his grandfather.

So he set the sights of the Deliverance on Zofia Castle, and after hours of fighting, they won. The traitors to the kingdom slipped away in the chaos, but the Deliverance lay in no condition to give chase, so he ordered everyone to secure their hold of the castle. In a mere few weeks, the role he’d taken felt like second nature.

Once assured no enemies remained in the castle, the Deliverance freed the stray hostages and the castle staff. The liberated soldiers pledged their service without missing a beat, and everyone from cleaner to cook offered their thanks. An elder among them introduced himself as a longtime aide to the late King Lima IV.

“This is my first time here, so I’ll admit to feeling a bit lost,” Alm said. “My grandfather spoke of it sometimes, but—”

“Your grandfather? Who was he?” asked the aide.

“Oh, uh, Sir Mycen.”

The aide went very still. “Sir Mycen, the Zofian general?”

The young leader affirmed it, not sure what to make of the scrutinizing gaze trained on him. “I’m his grandson. He lived in this castle long ago, didn’t he?”

“Well, yes, but…” A purse of the lips, a tap of the foot, a furrowing of the brow. “I knew the general quite well, and he had neither wife nor child.”

“Wh… what?” Something cold ran down Alm’s spine—no, every part of him.

Clive tilted his head. “I beg your pardon, sir, but that can’t be the case.”

The aide shuffled in place. “I assure you, I heard Mycen say himself, ‘I have no family.’ Heard him clear as day, I did.”

No amount of chaos during the battles thus far upended Alm as much as those words. He recalled quite clearly the number of times Mycen called him grandson. Had Mycen lied to the old aide, then, or—?

 _But wait_ … _If I’m not_ …

He missed the moment Clive ushered him away, but not when the man said, “Pay him no mind. The old timer’s probably just confused. It _was_ many years ago.”

“Right.” Also a possibility. Alm wanted it to be true.

But the doubt lingered, like a void forming within. It stayed with him when he heard Mycen arrived at the castle, it stayed in the few minutes they spoke to each other, and it stayed when Alm went to wave to the Zofian citizens gathered outside the castle. He never had a chance to ask Mycen the question, though—not when they talked for so short a time, and of course not after the old knight left as quietly as he’d arrived.

Thus, from then on, the void widened.

* * *

A surprise bout with the deserter, Fernand, ended with Clive shaken. Whatever words they exchanged had something to do with Alm, but he couldn’t place why he thought this. He ignored the nagging feeling in his gut and gave Clive some space.

If ever his thoughts wandered into wild speculation, he returned them to the same spot. _My name is Alm_. _I’m Mycen’s grandson_. _I come from Ram Village_. _I’m the leader of the Deliverance_.

Other labels latched onto him, too, all thrown by different people. _Farm boy_ and variants thereof. _Vermin_ , along with a myriad of other insults he couldn’t care less about. _Pup_ , from the traitor, Desaix, as he died.

His last words also included the names _Mycen_ and _Rudolf_.

Mycen, his grandfather. And Rudolf, the Emperor of Rigel. As in, the man responsible for starting the war between Rigel and Zofia in the first place. Desaix’s words devolved into chokes and gasps, but the two names Alm heard nonetheless strengthened the sinking, hollow feeling.

One of his village friends, Tobin, caught up with him after the battle. The subject of Desaix’s dying words came up fast.

“You sure you’re not imagining things?” asked Tobin. “What would Sir Mycen and the Rigelian Emperor have to do with each other?”

“That’s what concerns me,” Alm answered, tightening the grip on his sword. “Something’s been bothering me lately. Something I can’t shake. I think every victory I secure takes me one step further from…” _Who I thought I was_ , he almost said, but the words clogged in his throat.

Tobin leaned a smidge closer, moving slow reminiscent of how he used to prank Gray in Ram. “From…?”

“From Zofia,” Alm finished before realizing it.

Tobin must not have noticed anything as he barked a quick laugh. “Am I allowed to point out that is _literally_ what’s happening?” The smile faded somewhat, accompanied by a shift in tone. “Look, I’m worried, too. About my family, and everyone else we left behind. I miss them all. I get you’re homesick, but it’s okay. You’re definitely not alone there.”

“Thanks,” said Alm, and meant it. “I’m afraid that’s not what this is, though. This is… different.” _And you’re lucky to have family waiting for you_.

The jovial Tobin didn’t answer, but he did don a thoughtful, serious look—a prospect at once comforting, funny, and a little frightening. Then the smile returned, accompanied by a pat on the back, and a second later, he nudged Alm inside Desaix’s former stronghold. “Come on. Let’s see what stuff got left behind.”

It turned out Desaix and his forces left almost nothing of value, but anyone they kept prisoner knew freedom again. One room resembled a small dining area, and in the corner rested an old, ornate chest. Rather than finding it empty, Tobin, Lukas, and Alm discovered a golden sword inside.

A wild grin shot across Tobin’s face. “Whoo-ee! That is one impressive piece of hardware! I think I’ll just pick this up and—”

He grabbed the sword hilt and gave it a good yank before cutting himself short. For all intents and purposes, he should’ve taken the sword from the chest. Instead, the sword stayed put, and Tobin’s grin flipped into a puzzled frown.

“What the…? This thing weighs a ton!” Another pull, but again, he failed to lift the sword.

Lukas drew closer, as calm and observant as ever. He waved Tobin away and grabbed the hilt himself but met with the same failure. After three tugs, Lukas backed off, but his eyes remained on the weapon.

“What’s on your mind, Lukas?” asked Alm.

“I wonder…” Lukas drew in a deep breath. “This must be the Royal Sword of Zofia. Many years ago, Rigel presented it to Zofia as a gesture of friendship. This isn’t all that makes it special, however. It’s said only a person of royal blood can lift it.”

An interesting story, but surely, nothing more. As the last one in the room who hadn’t yet tried lifting the so-called Royal Sword, Alm stepped up and grasped the hilt. He put no more strength in lifting it as with any other sword… and to his surprise, it felt no heavier than any other sword, either.

Alm shook his head. “Sometimes, I don’t get you, Tobin. You couldn’t lift this? It’s as light as a feather!”

He cast a side glance at Tobin and Lukas. The former stared with his jaw agape, and the latter, with a raised eyebrow. Suddenly, Alm blanked on what to think.

Tobin pointed at the Royal Sword. “H-how… are you doing that?”

Still unsure, Alm bobbed his arm and the weapon up and down. “Uh… like this?”

“I thought my arms would snap trying to lift it!” cried Tobin.

“Are you serious? You’re not joking?”

“I’m completely serious!”

It took Alm a couple moments longer to realize, _Oh, gods, he’s not joking_. His arm fell to the side without him noticing right away.

Lukas loosed another breath and made a faint smile. “It would appear you can wield the Royal Sword. What _does_ this mean, though?”

 _Only a person of royal blood can lift it_. _I’m holding it right now_. _Grandfather always insisted I stay in the village, why_ —?

“Alm,” said Lukas, “are you…?”

With his mind racing so fast, Alm fumbled for something to say aloud. “O-oh, come on. It’s a story, right? From way back whenever? For all we know, the nobles of the day made it up to keep people from nicking it.”

Lukas observed him for a moment, long enough for Alm to hope the taller man couldn’t see his inner panic. If he did, though, Lukas made no note of it. Instead, he let out the most subtle of laughs. “That didn’t work out, now did it? But perhaps you’re right. Tales do have a habit of growing taller with time. Either way, it appears the blade belongs to you.”

Alm felt part of himself deflate. “You sure? I know you and Tobin couldn’t pick it up, but what about someone else?”

Lukas’s head swayed a bit from side to side. “I doubt it would work. You alone seem able to tame this legend. We also wouldn’t want such a treasure to go to waste, now would we?”

“I-I guess not, but…”

“Go on. Take it.”

 _Damn it, Lukas_. Alm turned away from both of them. “All right.”

While they left the room and followed Clive’s path, Tobin caught up with Alm and nudged him, smirking the whole way. “Royalty, huh?”

“It’s a coincidence,” Alm insisted. “Just wait. Another person’s going to pick this up, and we’ll all have a good laugh.”

“Pah! So you think it doesn’t like me or Lukas?”

“No, I meant…” Alm sighed through his teeth. “Forget it.”

“I was joking there,” Tobin clarified. “Not about the can’t-lift-the-sword thing, but the thing I just said.”

“I know.”

From there, Alm stalked ahead, heedless of Tobin calling after him. He needed something to keep his mind off the Royal Sword now strapped to his hip. Something to quell the growing storm of emotions within him. Something to assure him he still knew who he was.

A chance presented itself in short order, and he did so to assuage Clive’s doubts along with his own. Prior to joining the Deliverance, Alm never knew leading could feel so natural, never faced a real test for his training, never knew what kinds of people lived in the world. Most of all, he hadn’t realized what answering a simple plea for help could do, and how grateful he was to meet so many different people along the way. No doubt, he wished to stay this course, but also to remember his origins.

 _My name is Alm_. _I come from Ram Village_. _I’m the leader of the Deliverance_. _I’m Mycen’s grandson_. Except now, the last part felt less true. He couldn’t deny it, even though he wanted to.

It grew worse later in the evening. Lukas relayed what happened with the Royal Sword, and Alm’s earlier affirmations flew out the window. Even Clive looked a little betrayed.

In fact, his jaw dropped wide open. “Alm can pick up the Royal Sword? But I thought he was—”

“We already went over this, Clive,” Gray told him. “Making Alm our leader was no mistake. Yeah, it’s kind of weird he can pick up the fancy-schmancy sword and the rest of us can’t, but where he comes from shouldn’t matter.”

 _It matters to me_ , thought Alm, but he held his tongue. _Where am I from if not_ …?

“Noble or not, everyone here’s worked their butts off to make the Deliverance what it is,” Gray added. “You keep talking as if you haven’t put in as much work as us village folks, but you have, Your Nobleness. It all equals out!”

Clive laughed and shared a knowing look with his sister, Clair, and his betrothed, Mathilda. As the three thanked Gray for his observation, Alm realized they’d make quite the family.

Gray tried lifting the Royal Sword after, but instead, the weapon dragged him to the floor. His awkward yelp, combined with the bellowing _clang_ from the impact, sparked an uproar of laughter. Even Alm joined in, albeit not for long. Mathilda tried next, then Clive, then Kliff and Luthier. All four failed, yet this deterred no one. The pit in his gut sank further, and Alm stopped paying attention to the contest. He sneaked out to the ramparts, then took in the evening sky.

 _It’s just a story_ , he thought, _but nothing else explains what’s going on back there_.

No sense of calm came over him until a fond memory returned: sitting next to Celica, reading books by the fireplace. They were but children then, and at least for his part, he never had to ask many questions about himself beyond those regarding the parents he never knew, even if no one had the answers. Celica shared a collection of stories she’d heard, no doubt from her mysterious place of origin, and Alm imagined what all these locales beyond Ram Village might look like. A simple run of the imagination. Nothing but a boy who wanted to explore and find long lost family on the way.

Celica now followed her own path in the eastern half of Zofia, and Alm hoped for her success. He also wished they were together again, if for no other reason than to talk in a moment like this. Of everyone he’d ever known, he felt closest to Celica despite their living apart for seven years. Perhaps with her own childhood difficulty in opening up to others, she could understand his predicament.

 _Celica,_ _do you know who you are?_

He took into his hands an old pendant she’d given him as a gift years ago. A good luck charm, she’d called it. He traced the etchings with his hands, even as he looked up to the stars.

The laughter he left behind sounded faint. Somehow, everyone felt farther away than they really were. Celica, at least, felt a little closer.

* * *

With the western sluice gate secure and Delthea returned to normal, the peppy girl soon reacquainted herself with her brother, Luthier. She scurried off seconds later, reveling in her newfound freedom. Luthier looked on as her figure disappeared behind a corner, sighing with a mix of relief, dismay, and resignation.

Alm couldn’t help but laugh. “Delthea sure isn’t short on energy, is she?”

“I know,” Luthier answered. “She was spoiled growing up, and now look at her. She just runs amok!”

“Well, I admire how close you are. I never had anything like that, so I’m glad you two are a team again.”

“I appreciate it, Alm. There aren’t words enough to thank you proper, so I’ll speak with action.” Luthier faced him and bowed. “From here on out, sire, I am your most loyal man.”

That blasted sinking feeling hit hard, but Alm tried not to let it show. “Yeah, maybe let’s not have any of the whole ‘sire’ thing.” _Damn it, not this_.

Luthier laughed it off, though, and followed Delthea outside. Whatever smile Alm wore fell. Before his thoughts wandered, Clive chuckled beside him.

“I just wanted to say,” said Clive, “fine work there, rescuing the maiden as you did. Shocked as I am to say, you did the right thing. It appears you are more fit to be king than I ever will.”

 _For the love of_ — Alm shook his head. “Oh, no. Don’t _you_ start!”

The words might’ve come out a bit harsh, if Clive holding up a hand meant anything. “This is no jest. Unlike you, I’ve been too willing to put people’s lives on the line. I stand by my belief that a commander must put reason before emotion, but failing to rescue Mathilda or my sister was cowardice, not reason. In truth, I chose not to act for fear it would undermine my authority. And yet, look what you did in my stead. I criticized you for diverting our army to save one person, but you did it anyway because you have something I lack—strength of heart. You understand what is precious and fight for it no matter what.”

Alm turned away somewhat, calming himself. “You’re no craven, Clive. Just, enough with the ‘king’ and ‘sire’ stuff. I grew up in a village doing farm work. I never learned how to rule.”

Clive made a slow, long nod. “Well, as I’ve been learning throughout the war, one’s background says little about what a person can become.” The look on his face softened, similar to a father. “Whether you were born a peasant or a prince, you’ve shown the trappings of a good and capable leader. Don’t underestimate yourself because of your origins.”

“I… see. Thanks, Clive.” Alm offered as best a smile as he could manage. The nobleman had meant well, after all, and his words did carry an uplifting spirit. However, they also did nothing to abate the discomfort from earlier—never mind the persistent, growing void.

They parted ways, and Alm wandered outside and viewed the land from the top of the sluice gate. An enormous river ran underneath the walls, splitting the valley with the help of the gate and the giant wall to which it attached. He faced south, where the rest of Zofia lay. Behind him to the north lay Rigel, where the Deliverance might march next. It all depended on how the empire would respond to their petition for peace.

With his thoughts and emotions warring yet again, the young leader brought them back to the usual place.

 _My name is Alm_. This part had stayed true, thankfully.

 _I’m the leader of the Deliverance_. This part, too, remained true. If Clive proved anything, people cared less and less about his exact origins, so long as he did his job well and continued to inspire them. He couldn’t figure out what to make of the development.

 _I come from Ram Village_. Indeed, he had—but was he born there? He no longer felt certain about this, no thanks to the whole business with the Royal Sword.

 _I’m Mycen’s grandson_. Neither did he feel certain about this, much as he loathed to admit it. Why couldn’t _this_ have stayed a solid fact? Entertaining the idea Mycen wasn’t his grandfather brought with it many questions he preferred not to ask.

If he narrowed everything down to the most solid facts, he’d leave himself with his name, his position in the Deliverance, and where he came from, but not where he was born. None of this appeared to include real family, either. Only friends from an isolated village, and an old knight who trained him how to fight, an act which gave him a temporary escape at best.

He’d used the battles since Desaix as a way of burying his confusion, at least in part. In the midst of combat, he could focus on surviving and put everything else out of mind. No need to think his own grandfather lied to him. No need to think of why. No need to think back on any childhood longing. All selfish, of course, and thus not the most fitting subject for a leader to bring up.

A yelp from the floor below interrupted his ruminations. Delthea darted away from Luthier, goading him into a game of tag. Though he expressed irritation, he dove into the game laughing. Alm didn’t miss their smiles and helped himself to one of his own. This was the difference he wanted to make when he left Ram. It felt good. It felt _right_. He fought to protect the lives of people like his companions, and he’d endeavor to continue doing so. The war would need to end, however, to ensure the safety of the people.

It was as Celica said back at Zofia Castle. “There’s more to be done than fighting the foes laid before us. Winning the war alone won’t bring peace.” He understood this better now. For every scumbag like Desaix who met a well-deserved end, many others fought for the same reasons as Alm or his friends. Who else fought for their families, like Tobin? Who else found their calling in the army, like Gray? Who else fought to stay with friends, like Faye and Kliff? Who else sought to find their places in the world, like Alm himself?

Lingering too long on these thoughts didn’t help anything. Whatever their reasons, he told himself, every soldier chose to fight. No more, no less. The sooner the war ended, the sooner people would stop dying, and the sooner they could begin rebuilding everything destroyed by the war. Hopefully, after all the sword-swinging, he’d recall how to work a farm. Another concern unbecoming of an army’s leader, for sure.

He wondered if Celica had felt similar in the past—trapped with her own thoughts, not knowing how to open up to anyone, even friends. Though not with him now, at least he had an idea of where she was. He couldn’t say the same for Mycen, who remained as elusive as ever. Alm wasn’t sure how he’d react if they met again. He just hoped, wherever Mycen and Celica traveled, they’d stay safe.

It occurred to him, then, how Celica’s path would’ve brought her close to the eastern sluice gate. Something he heard earlier sprang to mind, and Alm’s breath caught. Only Zofian royalty could open the gates, or at least permit it, according to a guard, but the gates opened anyway. The guard had brought up how Princess Anthiese might’ve survived an assassination in secret until now. Alm started wondering.

 _Celica said being royalty wasn’t an easy job_. Based on what else he recalled of their conversation, and combined with his current train of thought, the answer soon occurred to him. _Celica, were_ you _the missing Zofian princess all these years?_

Of all the secrets he could learn about his dear friend. It meant she’d known who she was for years and still remembered it.

His hands shook. A dark feeling churned within, equal parts envious, angry, and guilty. It grew fast, swelling like a violent gust, at which point he drew his sword and fell into a practice routine. No one bothered him, which provided a small relief.

But neither offered escape.

* * *

Clive reported the Rigelian soldiers didn’t respond to the petition. Rather, they “responded” with silence. The Deliverance thus set out to bring Emperor Rudolf to justice, lest he start his invasion anew. On the first day they marched into Rigel proper, various Deliverance soldiers took note of the air. Stories said Rigel experienced cooler and more arid weather than Zofia, and the onset of winter made this all too clear.

For his part, Alm paid the chill winds no mind. His armor and new cloak staved a lot of it off, so he led the march with no greater difficulty than normal.

Gray looked downright jealous. “Seriously, how are you not freezing your tenders off?”

“I’m just not?” In truth, Alm lacked a better reply.

“Can’t imagine how Rigelians manage…” Gray rolled his shoulders. “Then again, they live here. They must be used to it.”

Something in the statement slowed Alm’s pace. No, perhaps the wind did. Either way, a certain feeling cut into the young leader, akin to déjà vu.  Why? How? Without noticing right away, he muttered, “ _Was_ I here before…?”

It took spying Gray’s incredulous look for Alm to realize he’d spoken louder than he meant to. Gray just chortled and elbowed him, though. “What, did you vacation here ages ago, and I never knew about it? Come on. Our whole village crew can tell you otherwise.”

“R-right. We never left the village before Lukas showed up.” Alm knew this for fact, so he must’ve imagined the déjà vu. He must have, because he no longer felt it.

Gray turned serious then—a very frightful thought. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“We’ve noticed, you know. Tobin, Kliff, Faye, me, even Clive. You’ve had something bugging you for a while now, right?”

Alm eyed him, then faced forward. “W-what makes you think so?”

Gray threw his hands behind his head and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Hmm, let’s see… Getting all worked up over the Royal Sword. Going off alone more often. Charging headfirst at that Tatarrah guy when he pitched his magical kill-ball. I mean, sure, you got him good, but then you worked yourself to exhaustion the same night and barely talked. So yeah… we’re kinda worried.”

Something showed through. He had to rein it in better. Alm tried to sound surprised. “What? Afraid I’m leaving you all behind?”

“Sort of, but it doesn’t seem like you, you know? At the rate you’ve been going these days, you might get yourself killed.”

 _Oh_. _Well_. _Wouldn’t want to go_ that _far_. He _did_ have much to think about beyond his own worries, and it wouldn’t do to make a reckless charge like the one against Tatarrah. Overworking also wouldn’t do, and not just because it hadn’t eased his worries. Alm nodded and looked ahead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice.”

Gray lowered his arms and gained a spring in his step. “Hey, no problem. So, since I’m right here, what’s on your mind?”

“It’s not easy to say.” Rather, Alm didn’t know how to say it. He wound up speaking faster as the words poured out. “Sometimes, I… don’t know who I am.”

Gray quirked an eyebrow, then broke into a smile. “You’re Alm. My best bud, fearless leader, dorky cat lover—the works!”

They both laughed, and Alm rubbed the back of his head. “R-right! Silly question.” _Argh, I knew it wouldn’t turn out right_. Frustrated, he shook off the thought and kept his tone calm. “There’s something else, actually. I guess… Rigel’s forces are growing stronger, and another battle will come sooner rather than later. We have no idea when this war will end, and I don’t know if we’re prepared enough.”

“Aw, worried we’ll all catch colds?” Some frown must’ve shown on his face because Gray held up his hands, palms out. “I know, I know, real concern, but trust me. We’ve endured a lot since joining the Deliverance, and we’re not going to let cold weather and colder enemies stop us. We’re not the same scraggly runts we were when we left Ram. We got this.” He pounded his chest with his fist. “Hell, _I’ve_ got this. If Tobin comes crying about wanting to leave, don’t get mad, okay?”

For a moment, it felt as if they’d returned to the village—the same group that left near to a year ago, complete with Gray and Tobin trading japes and bars. Alm laughed, and it struck him then how long it had been since he last did so. “That would be a problem. I need Tobin right where he is.” He elbowed Gray back like old times. “Thanks, for everything. I’m counting on you.”

“’Course. Watchin’ each other’s backs is what we’ve done since we were kids. So if you’re going for a crazy charge again, at least let one of us join you.”

“All right.” Another laugh left him, and Alm shook his head. “Why do I get the feeling _you’re_ the one who’s going to charge in first next time?”

“’Cause _I got this_!” After a second, Gray’s shoulders dropped. “Wait, was that a compliment, or…?”

They marched on, laughing for a while longer.

* * *

A battle did indeed find them, and so the Deliverance engaged the Rigelian forces. The hectic flow of the fighting separated Alm from some of the troops in spite of his best efforts. Before he knew it, he faced both enemy commanders at once: Fernand, the deserter; and Berkut, Prince of Rigel and the emperor’s nephew. True to his word, Gray stepped in to help Alm—followed by Tobin, Faye, and Kliff. Their good timing, and the whole group’s teamwork, defeated Fernand and Berkut in short order.

The end of the battle almost ended in disaster, however, due to some dark magic Berkut unleashed to everyone’s horror, including his own. Human-like hands emerged from the earth and dragged several soldiers on both sides somewhere below. A frantic prayer on Alm’s part and some strange intervention from Celica’s pendant saved both the Deliverance and the remaining Rigelian soldiers. Neither side carried enough strength to continue the fight, so Berkut ordered a retreat, and the Deliverance made camp some distance away.

With a calm moment to themselves, the old Ram Village group gathered. Faye still shuddered from the eldritch intervention during the battle, even as she tended the wounds on Tobin, Gray, and Alm with recovery magic and salves of her own make. Kliff broke off from healing duties and buried himself in some books. Even in silence, they shared a sense of solace.

Finally, Gray cleared his throat. “So, Kliff. Find anything related to the crazy hands back there?”

Kliff scratched his head and puffed out a breath. “Yes and no. It was dark magic, but we could tell just from seeing it. I think Berkut called it Duma’s power, and Celica’s pendant cancelled out the spell, so I started from there… but I haven’t found much. Sounds like people can surrender themselves to Duma for greater magical power.”

“That has ‘bad deal’ written all over it,” said Tobin. “What does ‘surrender themselves’ even mean?”

“Not sure. Something about souls, I think.”

“So, what? Give up your soul, gain lots of power?”

“Why would anyone need to do such a thing?” asked Faye. “Kliff, you and I never offered our souls to Mother Mila for our magic. We just kind of had it.”

“It’s less ‘needing’ to do it and more _wanting_ to. People crave power everywhere—especially in Rigel, if we go by the stories. It’s also one thing to already have power, like you and me. It’s another to want more, more, more.” After a second sigh, Kliff set the book aside. “Anyway, the soul thing’s a little unclear. I’m not sure if it involves giving up your soul on the spot, handing it over when the terms of the deal are done, or if you just let Duma’s will in and have him control you without giving up your soul at all.”

“Still sounds scary,” Gray muttered, “and not even remotely worth it.”

Kliff snorted. “I could’ve told you that.”

“You and me both.” Faye rubbed her hands together.

Alm leaned back, mulling over the facts. “What happens to the people after they surrender themselves to Duma?”

“Well, they gain the power they want, all right,” Kliff answered. “They also lose just about everything else. Likes, dislikes, memories, personal quirks… anything that made them who they were. Their whole identities, basically.”

“Sounds worse than losing yourself in this war.”

“It is.”

Faye’s trembling worsened until Tobin hugged her. Gray followed suit, and soon, so did Alm and Kliff, at which point they formed a circle. Though they all breathed deep, Faye’s came out most pronounced and haggard until she calmed. The others synced their breathing, waiting for Faye to join them. When she did, they waited a bit longer, taking comfort in each other’s presence.

Finally, Tobin patted Faye on the back. “Feeling better? You back with us now?”

She nodded. “Yeah… I’m back. The bad memories went away.” A smile broke through her tear-streaked face. “Thank you.”

* * *

Memories. Anything that made people who they were. Whole identities. Alm couldn’t imagine giving up anything of the sort, even while wrestling with his own. He’d had his share of bad memories of the past, but both the good and the bad shaped him. A particular bad day had affected him along with Tobin, Gray, Kliff, and Faye most of all, for better and worse. Celica, too.

Alm was around ten years of age, same as Celica and the others. Celica had come to the village about three years prior but spent the first of them shut in and around Mycen’s home, too afraid to leave. After several attempts, Alm began having regular conversations with her, whether by the fire or the sheep pen. As the sole children in the village without real parents or siblings, they bonded fast.

In time, the six of them took to playing together whenever they finished their chores. Celica soon joined the group’s antics, playing tag or with the sheep, climbing trees—to Mycen’s dismay—picking oranges, and so on. Sure, Alm and Celica visited the flower field by themselves on occasion, but it never broke the friendships the group had formed.

Alm and Celica revealed to each other strange marks they carried—a cross-shaped one sitting on the back of the former’s left hand, and a cross with pronged arms on the latter’s right palm. Like Alm, Celica had hers since birth. An odd coincidence, but interesting.

“Well, this makes us close! Er, doesn’t it?” Alm asked.

Celica giggled. “I suppose it does, in a strange sort of way. I wonder why the marks are so similar.”

“It’s because they’re special. I guess they prove the two of us belong together, always. If you’re not already tired of a clod like me, I mean.”

“Of course not!” Her face lit up with the brightest smile. “So, do you mean it? We’ll always be together?”

“Yes, I promise. Do you promise, too?”

Celica went to respond when a voice screamed in the distance—Faye’s. A scream of fear, in fact.

Alm and Celica followed the sound, which took them some distance beyond the village. There, they caught sight of Faye, Tobin, Kliff, and Gray, along with some knights baring cruel expressions. The lead knight looked anything but friendly. The whole group threatened to kidnap the children. One knight went so far as to threaten Faye at the point of a spear, and the leader yanked Celica’s arm.

Even at ten years of age, Alm threw a rock at the lead knight. A foolish action in hindsight, but he wanted to protect Celica and Faye. A harsh shove from the lead knight dashed that hope—or would have, if not for Mycen’s intervention. After telling the kids to run to the cemetery, Mycen defeated the so-called knights one by one. The leader escaped, but not his teammates.

The relief Alm and the other kids felt at surviving lasted but a short while. Celica turned sad, and Mycen grim.

“Now that they know Celica is here, they’ll stop at nothing,” Mycen explained when asked. “It’s no longer safe for her to stay in Ram.”

Alm went cold. “What? But why?”

Celica cast her eyes down. “I’m so sorry, Alm. I know you would’ve kept your promise.”

“It’s okay. Just… tell me this is some kind of mistake! That you don’t have to go!”

Except she did, and no amount of protest on Alm’s part would convince Mycen otherwise. Celica gave him her good luck charm then. A gift from a mother she couldn’t remember, she said. “I want you to keep it close—as close as you would’ve kept me,” she requested. “I pray it keeps you safe.”

Mycen and Celica departed the next morning, and Alm almost missed his chance to tell her good-bye. He promised to find her before she disappeared, and he spent the days until Mycen’s return with Gray’s family.

In the interim, all the kids dealt with the occasional bad dream of the knights who almost killed them. Faye dreamt of it most often, and they’d come back to her just as strong even as the years went on. Tobin, Gray, and Kliff had their share of nightmares, but not as often as Faye did. Despite this, the group dove into their training with greater fervor, each wanting to grow stronger. To never feel so helpless again.

And at least for Alm, to find Celica, no matter how long it took.

* * *

Now, of course, the entire incident with the cruel knights made perfect sense. Mycen had brought Celica to Ram Village to hide her. As Princess Anthiese of Zofia, Desaix and anyone loyal to him wanted to kill her and finish off the royal family. Only when Alm and Celica reunited at Zofia Castle seven years later did he learn she went to a priory on the island of Novis, where she’d trained in the ways of a priestess.

As before, however, they couldn’t stay with each other long. The Deliverance had to move, and Celica couldn’t afford to lose pace heading to the Temple of Mila. Yet even with the whole continent between them, Alm thought of her often. And if the miracle granted by her good luck charm proved anything, Celica must’ve thought of him, too.

The strong assumption turned into an outright confirmation one evening. As the sun set, Alm rushed at the sound of her voice, but discovered a magic projection instead of the real her. She’d replaced her white headband with a golden headdress fit for royalty. She’d even changed her light armor and cloak, but for the most part, she looked the same as she did back in Zofia Castle.

Although saddened Celica wasn’t with him in person, Alm nonetheless felt a bit overwhelmed seeing her again. He’d wanted to, for so long. “Is it really you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” she answered. “Sage Halcyon’s magic is allowing me to speak with you. I’ve missed you so much!”

“I’m happy to see you, too.” He reached out, as she did, even though the projection’s arms ghosted through his own. Suddenly, she choked on a sob, and he stopped moving. “What’s wrong? Are things not going as well as you hoped?” he asked. When she couldn’t answer, Alm scratched behind his ear. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do. Please don’t cry.”

Celica let out a sniff, then peered at him. “You’re not angry?”

“About what?”

“About our talk at the castle. Saying you shouldn’t fight, telling you winning the war won’t matter…”

“Only if the land dies, right? But you were searching for Mila to prevent that.”

“Yes, but the way I said it…” Celica turned away. “I must’ve sounded so dismissive of your choice.”

Alm shuffled in place. “Well, I wasn’t much better. I didn’t even think over your point until after you left, but I get it now. I also think, if we weren’t taking our own paths to save Zofia, we’d lose something.”

Celica made a slow nod. “True. Be they soldiers, traitors, or brigands, cruel people will move if we don’t. We should protect innocent lives where we can, however we can.”

“And if we can’t fix the land or negotiate a peace treaty, war will break out again as soon as it ends, and people will keep dying.” It sounded something like a royal would say, and he smiled at the observation. “You were definitely thinking way farther down the line than I was. It’s because you’re the princess of Zofia, aren’t you? Princess Anthiese.”

“I am. My secret’s out.” She let out a quiet giggle. “But if I’m being honest, ‘Celica’ feels more like my real name now. You can keep calling me Celica if you want.”

“Okay.” Memories of their conversation at Zofia Castle flooded back, and Alm slapped the side of his head. “Argh, now I’m cringing at some of the things I told you. When I said, ‘Blame the king,’ I didn’t realize…” He sighed, leaving the rest unspoken. “Forgive me.”

She smiled, radiant even without the glow of her projection. “It’s in the past now. I’m glad we have this chance to talk.”

“Yeah…” The past, simpler times, reading together by the fire. “And well, at least one of us knows who we are.”

“Huh?” Celica moved as though to lean closer. “What do you mean?”

He averted his gaze. “I’m wasting your time, and the sage’s magic—”

“Alm, please, tell me what’s wrong. Whatever you’re not saying, it’s hurting you. It’s hard to keep everything to yourself. I know I have no real right to say it, but still…”

“I-I understand,” he said, sheepish. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

A gentle smile showed on her face, and soon, Alm found himself telling her everything. About the old aide who claimed Mycen had no family. About how the elderly knight disappeared, and no one had seen or heard of him since. About the Royal Sword, and how Alm alone could even lift it, never mind use it. About how no one gave these details much thought, and how he couldn’t bring himself to say what he told her now.

“And I just don’t get it,” Alm finished. “Did a lot of royal families exist at one time?”

Celica pursed her lips. “If they did, they all folded into either the Zofian or Rigelian noble houses long ago.”

“Okay, but why didn’t he tell me? The worst part of all of this is… I may not have had a real family my whole life. And if that’s the case—if Sir Mycen isn’t my grandfather—then who _is_ my family? Where did I come from? Why did my parents give me up? Are they out there somewhere? Did they think about me at all? Would we even know each other if we met? Who am I really…?” He hadn’t meant for his voice to crack at the end. He hadn’t meant for a tear to escape, either.

A light shimmered close to his face. When Alm opened his eyes, Celica’s hand rested on his cheek. Had she been there for real, he’d have felt it and touched her hand in turn. Instead, he ghosted through her projection again. He sighed, steadying his voice. “I wish you were here.”

“Me, too.” Celica wiped away a tear of her own with her free hand. “Hang in there, okay? All those questions are important to answer. For what it’s worth, I think you know yourself better than you think you do right now… and you’re not as alone as you think, either.”

“Maybe.” Alm wasn’t sure he believed it, the first part in particular. He took a moment to collect himself. “Say, when the war’s over, why don’t we look for those answers together?”

She nodded and breathed deep. “Yes, let’s. Thank you. You’ve reminded me why I left the island in the first place. I’m going to Duma Tower.”

Duma the War Father. Rigel’s patron god. A strong chill went through him, recalling the crazed worshippers the Deliverance had fought thus far. “But, the Duma Faithful…! Their worst fanatics might be there! It’s too dangerous! Who knows what they’ll do to you!”

“Even so, I have to go. Mila wasn’t in her temple.” Celica straightened, resolve shining bright in her gaze. “Emperor Rudolf attacked, and now Mila’s being kept in the tower by those very fanatics.”

“The emperor himself?”

“Yes, and that’s why I must go. I have to free Mila, and I may be the only one who can.”

He saw no point in telling her not to, considering how far she must’ve traveled. If he were in her spot, he would’ve made the same choice. He continued worrying for her, of course, but perhaps she felt the same for him.

“Please, whatever you do,” said Alm, “remember we have to meet again, okay? I promise, too. I swear to find you, and I’ll get your kingdom back.”

“We’ll meet again,” Celica replied. “I pray for your success. Stay safe.”

“Ditto to you.”

Her projection faded, leaving Alm alone. Yet somehow, he didn’t feel lonely. Not this time. He drew out her pendant and gave it a good, long look.

 _We’ll find the answers together_. His grip tightened around it.

* * *

The Deliverance marched through western Rigel, meeting resistance along the way. Many a common Rigelian citizen offered support, to Alm’s great surprise. Something came up saying how a civil war left the northern country in shambles, and the people had struggled to cope with the aftermath ever since. Though Emperor Rudolf had quelled the conflict, it appeared he cared little for repairing his own kingdom, electing instead to direct Rigel’s armies against Zofia.

That was the gist of it, at least. Alm heard a few different stories about the Rigelian Emperor, along with various labels, and he had neither the time nor the means to discern fact from fiction. While the Deliverance rested by a village, he and some of the other soldiers asked around. One villager resented the man for leaving Rigel to rot; another resident, Zeke, gave a contrary account.

“He treated me as if I were a son,” said Zeke while tending to his horse.

He told of how he’d washed ashore an injured, delirious man. Though Tatiana helped him recover from his injuries, Zeke soon found himself in the dungeons of Rigel Castle. His unknown origins led many to accuse him of spy work, and without any memory of his past, Zeke couldn’t refute them. Emperor Rudolf himself stepped in to resolve the situation—but rather than turn the amnesiac man away, Rudolf gave him a name and a place in the Rigelian Army. Thanks to Zeke’s hard work and dedication, many a crooked Rigelian officer met his comeuppance. Alm and the Deliverance had assisted in the latest instance of such the day before.

“I may have betrayed the emperor,” Zeke admitted, reflecting on the incident, “but never would I help you do him harm. If not for his mercy, I wouldn’t have my current life.”

Nearby, Alm washed his hands after wiping the Royal Sword clean. The blade retained its smooth edges, so he could put off sharpening it for now. All the while, he listened to Zeke’s tale, sympathizing with his plight while puzzling over this latest tale on Rudolf.

Alm couldn’t help feeling a bit of guilt. “I’m sorry for asking so much of you. You don’t have to join us if you don’t want to.”

Zeke made a slight bow of his head. “Thank you for understanding. I do admit, you’re not in the wrong. As I understand it, Rigel isn’t the pillar of strength it once was.”

He went on to say more, but his breath caught. It happened so suddenly, Alm turned to check on Zeke out of concern. The amnesiac man stood unmoving, staring shocked at his hands. Alm’s hands.

At length, Zeke muttered something. “By the gods…!”

Alm wondered if his face now mirrored the other man’s. “Wh-what’s wrong?”

“Where did the mark on your hand come from?”

“Oh, this?” Alm held up his hand, showing the cross-shaped mark in full. “I don’t know. I’ve always had it, even as a little kid.”

“And here I believed either I or the emperor had gone mad.”

“What do you mean?”

Zeke shifted his stance, ever fixated on the mark. “Some time ago, Emperor Rudolf gave me some odd advice. He said, should I ever meet a man with a cross-shaped mark on his left hand, I’m to follow him because—and I quote—‘That man is chosen. He shall save all of Rigel, and with it, all of Valentia.’”

Now Alm went still. “Emperor Rudolf said that?” Zeke nodded, and the young leader gave the mark on his hand a second look. “Strange…”

“I agree, but now that I’ve met you, I must heed my emperor’s words. I’m yours to command.”

“Okay… but I won’t force you to fight.”

“Thank you.”

Alm put on his gloves and gauntlets, half aware of his own movements. His mind kept replaying the conversation over and over.

 _Chosen? To save Rigel and Valentia?_ A lofty prospect, and terrifying. He’d set out to save Zofia, his homeland, not necessarily Rigel. If defeating Rudolf would also benefit Rigel, though, then it would count towards saving “all of Valentia.” How bad of a man was Rudolf? He’d started the war and left his country to limp by, yet he stayed mindful of a prophecy that would save it.

Besides, how and when did Rudolf hear of any “chosen one?” How would he know this supposed savior was even a man? Last Alm recalled, Celica had a mark of her own, also a cross but shaped a bit like a flower. For all anyone knew, she was the prophesied chosen one. Or perhaps multiple “chosen” existed, and he and Celica both qualified. A third person with a cross-shaped mark might also exist somewhere.

 _Or it’s all a coincidence_.

Alm shook the thoughts away, or tried to. Prophecies or no, his mission remained the same: to save Zofia. So what if it aligned with some savior story?

* * *

The Deliverance soon marched on Rigel Castle. Alm offered Rudolf and his forces one final chance to surrender and accept a truce. Rudolf responded by ordering his troops to attack—but also, curiously, to stand down if he were to fall. From there, the battle commenced.

While fighting brewed on the ground level, Alm met Rudolf on the ramparts. They engaged in single combat, but Alm noticed something not long after the duel began. Rudolf swung with his lance, but his moves looked too big, too obvious, and yet controlled by a veteran fighter all the same. At first, the young leader thought he imagined these little mistakes, but no. He saw them plain as day.

“What are you doing?” Alm asked. “Are you going to attack or not? What are you planning, Rudolf?”

No answer came, save for a new swipe to parry.

They fought on, Alm looking for an opening to exploit, what with Rudolf’s apparent interest in defense instead of attack. It reminded Alm a bit of his training sessions with Mycen, except he and his opponent used real weapons instead of training sticks. Soldiers from both Rigel and Zofia watched from the sides, but he couldn’t afford to observe them too often. Not when Rudolf could change tactics on a whim.

At last, however, Alm dealt the killing strike—a powerful stab right in the gut.

Rudolf collapsed against the rampart wall. The Rigelian soldiers shuffled but stayed put, leaving the leader of the Deliverance in the closest proximity to the emperor. Once sure no one would try any last-second ambushes, Alm steeled himself.

He’d spent the better part of the war wary of the man who ruled Rigel. Invader, blasphemer, caretaker, fair judge—Rudolf had been all those things and others, according to the stories. Alm hadn’t imagined victory over such a person would bring with it subdued emotions, even as it played out as such. In the end, finishing the war proved itself a part of the job, nothing more. Now, the job was done.

Alm approached Rudolf’s slumped form and knelt in front him. The man yet breathed, but he wouldn’t last much longer. The wound ran too deep for a healer to fix in time even if one were close by.

“You fought well,” Alm said.

To his surprise, Rudolf answered, “So did you.” A hint of a smile crossed his face. “I’m proud of you, my son.”

All thought of anything flew out of mind. Alm froze, and not due to the falling snow. “What?”

“I knew I was right to entrust you to my dearest friend,” Rudolf went on, gasping for breath the whole way.

Desaix’s dying words came back. “Your friend…? Mycen?” Alm received a weak nod, and any other sense of balance crumbled. “What are you saying?”

“I thought you’d have realized by now.” A cough, and the emperor reached out to touch the young leader’s hand. “Your true name is Albein Alm Rudolf. You are my one and only son.”

“I… what?” _This has to be a mistake_. _It has to_ —

Except only those of royal blood could use the Royal Sword. Rudolf knew of someone who bared a cross-shaped mark on his left hand. Mycen had no family, forbade Alm from leaving Ram for years, and remained elusive throughout the war. He also knew Rudolf.

The facts added up.

Alm wished they didn’t. “That can’t be true. You’re lying. Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Be still, my son. I haven’t time left to explain.” Rudolf drew in deep breaths, and his hold on the young leader’s hand tightened. “I beg you one final favor.”

“You want a favor from _me_?” _What’s going on why does this make sense_ —

“Take the Kingsfang, which sealed Mila’s strength. Duma has become a thing of mindless evil. Use the blade… destroy him…”

“No, wait! Emperor Rudolf!” Alm lunged and grabbed the older man by the shoulders.

Rudolf’s voice faded. His hand slipped away. The Emperor of Rigel heaved one last breath, then fell quiet. Unmoving.

Alm drew back. Stumbled. Couldn’t stand, or turn away. “Were you truly my father…?”

 _No_. _No_. _No_. _No_.

“Then I’ve just—”

 _I wanted to find family_. _To know I wasn’t alone_ —

“Oh, gods… what have I…?”

A scream roared off the ramparts.

His own.

* * *

It took the combined efforts of Tobin, Gray, Kliff, and Faye to bring Alm to his feet. When they did, he couldn’t remember. Whatever they said, he never heard. Rigelian soldiers collected Rudolf’s body when they gathered their wounded.

Clive gave orders to the Deliverance while Alm registered few things on the way into Rigel Castle. He heard some Rigelian soldiers call to a Prince Albein or an Emperor Rudolf II when he passed them. A part of him knew they meant him, but understanding didn’t come with it.

 _How_. _Why_. _This isn’t what I_ …

The moment he learned Mycen waited in the throne room, every jumbled emotion coalesced into focus—and anger. Alm stormed off, but paused before going through the doors. If he let out everything at once, he’d learn nothing.

Mycen stood some ways in front of the throne. Light from the setting sun seeped through the giant sigil of Duma on the back wall, creating an elongated mirror image on the stone floor. No one else occupied the room, save Mycen and Alm.

The younger man approached like an inferno. “Where have you been?”

The elder man stayed rigid like a mountain. “I gathered a lot information to prepare for this day. There’s much I need to say.”

“Then tell me… what the hell is going on? Rudolf said I was his son, a bunch of people are calling me a prince, and no one seems to care I just killed my own father!”

“I understand you’re confused, but there is no denying fact.” The statement sounded practiced, cold. “You are the sole child of Emperor Rudolf—scion of the Rigelian imperial bloodline, and true heir to the throne.”

No room remained for a shred of denial. Only the painful cut of betrayal.

Alm couldn’t still his hands. “So you knew, all these years, and you kept it from me. I _had_ family, I asked about it several times, and you never told me. You could’ve stopped me from killing my father, and _you didn’t_!”

“It wasn’t my plan, I assure you.” Mycen loosed a rueful sigh. “Please, remain calm. I’ll explain everything.”

He then relayed a tale of two sibling gods, Mila and Duma, and how they settled in the south and north, respectively, of the land of Valentia. Though they acted first as guides, teachers, and parents to the growing human nations, Mila and Duma integrated their influences deeper into people’s lives. Their sound minds began to slip as well, turning people to slothful depravity in the south and brutal retribution in the north.

As a youth, Rudolf found the Duma Faithful harsh advocates of their god’s teachings, but at least somewhat fair. As he reached adulthood, however, Rudolf witnessed the lessons lose all sense of compassion and reason, hearing instead how force alone answered to force. Duma himself offered no solace in his ramblings on strength.

Within the first three years of Rudolf’s reign, Halcyon and Jedah of the Faithful went to court over a crime that shook all of Rigel. The verdict removed Halcyon as head of the Faithful and sparked an uproar among the noble houses, thrusting Rigel into civil war. The atrocities committed spoke to the worst extremes of Duma’s teachings.

“Rudolf knew the nation couldn’t sustain itself when steeped in so much chaos,” said Mycen. “He also saw Duma’s growing madness and knew it for a harbinger of ruin, yet still, people clung to the gods. With the civil war underway despite his best efforts, Rudolf was at a loss of what to do.” He sighed, and his mentor’s tone of voice softened. “But then, you were born.”

Alm faced him. His anger had calmed in the interim to better digest the story, although it remained at a simmer. Now, though, he felt confusion first and foremost. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You bore the Brand, sign of a hero who would rise to save Valentia. It’s a prophecy known in both Rigel and Zofia. Bearing the Brand would mark one as a vessel for the gods’ will, but none could decipher what this meant. Given the state of things back then, Rudolf feared the worst—that the most extreme of the Faithful would sacrifice you to Duma. That they’d turn his newborn child into a weapon as some deluded promise of salvation.”

As the words sank in, Alm peered at his left hand. Though covered in glove and gauntlet, he could visualize the cross-shaped mark resting underneath.

“So, Rudolf made his resolve,” Mycen went on. “He concealed the news of your birth and entrusted you to me. He asked I take you to Zofia, and as far from the border as possible. The pain on his face when he placed you in my arms…” The elder knight let out a sad sigh, leaving the younger man to wonder how the scene might’ve looked.

 _He became a father, but then had to give his child up? That’s why he gave_ me _up?_

After clearing his throat, Mycen resumed speaking. “From there, he brought the dissenters under heel and ended the civil war. He united the Rigelian factions against a common foe, using this as a starting point to end the influence of the gods. He’d never draw close enough to Duma with Jedah in the way, not without risking another civil war. Neither could he gain access to Mila with Lima IV dismissing every effort to foster cooperation between the nations. Instead, he donned the mantle of one who’d destroy the old world order—one who’d free people to live under their own power, even if they hated him for it. He knew such heresy would bring those who wished for his death.”

“Did he plan to die as part of all this?” Alm asked.

Mycen nodded. “From what I recall, he expected it.”

“Did he expect to die by my hands?” _Did he_ want _me to kill him?_

“He wished for you to become a true champion. To grow up hale and happy, and perhaps lead the people in a new era without the gods. I’m not sure he believed he’d die at your hands, but… he believed it a mercy. Rudolf told me himself he could imagine no more peaceful an end.”

Anger spiked, and Alm fought to keep it under control. “And what of _my_ peace?”

“This is not the time for mourning or self-pity,” said Mycen, spiking the anger further. “Rudolf’s purpose now falls to you. The true foe you must defeat is Duma, as well as the fanatics tainted by his madness. If you don’t hurry, Celica may also lose her life.”

“Oh, gods… Celica set out for Duma Tower to save Mila!”

“A passage beneath this castle leads to the Temple of Duma. We should head there soon. I understand the path stretches all the way to the tower.”

Alm gave a curt nod, and they left the throne room. He broke from Mycen as soon as they entered the hall and ignored the elder knight’s call. He doubted he could do so without breaking further, or snapping, or worse. He even debated whether or not to keep calling the man _grandfather_. If he kept his distance, he could give himself time to digest everything he’d heard and let the anger fade.

Alm returned to the Deliverance soldiers and helped them coordinate with the surviving Rigelian troops. Updating everyone on the situation yielded a justified mixed response, but those not confused by the whole thing pledged their continued service.

 _Stay on task_ , he told himself throughout. _Stay on task; don’t think about Rudolf; don’t think about Mycen; don’t think about how he lied for years, or how you’re some royal hero_ —

No. He wouldn’t think about any of it.

He’d stay on task.

Get things done.

And end the war.

* * *

The Temple of Duma resembled no structure Alm had ever seen. The underground labyrinth looked made of bone and stone, lit by a myriad of torches. Who spent the time to light them all? Alm paid no mind to his village friends’ speculations on it. He barely felt okay enough to venture into the temple, and upon doing so, dread hit him like a frigid gust.

Something lurked below. Something large, dark, and all-consuming.

Alm drew in a few deep breaths. _Is this Duma’s presence?_ When he considered what Mycen had said hours before, he wondered if he alone sensed the ominous air in the temple. If another person felt it, did he or she feel it as strongly as Alm did?

He considered inquiring, but the first person he noticed was Mycen. They hadn’t talked since leaving the throne room. Alm still didn’t feel ready to talk to the older man, and while he could’ve pitched his question to someone else, he opted not to. In the end, it wouldn’t matter.

A mix of lanterns and magic allowed the Deliverance and Rigelian forces to navigate their way through the twisting, narrow halls. Even combined with the torches and braziers already in place, blinding shadows loomed ahead at every step. One room shone brighter than the others thanks to a bonfire set at the back.

There, they found Berkut—a cousin, Alm realized a mere hour before. However, Berkut drowned in the power of Duma, offered to him with the life of his fiancée. Memory of Fernand’s final words minutes earlier rushed back to Alm in a flash. Meanwhile, Berkut stood before them, darkened by the bonfire and the reddish aura engulfing him. He’d heard the truth regarding Alm and Rudolf’s gambit, although he wouldn’t say from where. Neither did he care. As far as Berkut could see, his uncle had fooled him all his life into believing he’d inherit the Rigelian throne.

Alm couldn’t believe the sight before him. “You gave up the woman you love to Duma? How could you? What’s the point of power if you have nothing left to protect?”

Berkut spoke with an eerie echo in his voice. “I realized something… power won’t betray me. Power won’t deceive me. Blood ties? Years of life lived together? All meaningless. A man can’t rely on anything but his own strength!”

He flew from the bonfire to Alm in seconds, and the latter parried on instinct instead of thought. Every clash of blades thereafter rang loud enough to shake the walls and ceiling. Berkut lashed out at everyone and everything, targeting Alm the most at his own expense. During the next hour, this recklessness left him open to a fatal strike. The dark aura faded, Berkut’s eyes changed from glowing red to his normal brown, and he collapsed in a heap.

Alm knelt beside Berkut. His cousin lay before him, bleeding out. “Why…? I wondered about my family my whole life. How did it come to this?” He studied the wound. Unfortunately, as with Rudolf, it ran too deep.

Berkut scoffed through a ragged breath. “I have no family, nor do I want for one. Stop talking and end me, and you can stand alone as the inheritor of Rigel’s royal blood.”

“I never wanted that! Don’t you get it? I’ve spent enough of my life alone! I wanted to _find_ my family! Not destroy it…!”

The laugh Berkut released, though strained, also sounded genuine. He handed over a ring—a memento of his mother, by his word—and coughed up blood. “You’re not a child anymore. Alm… make Valentia a land not of gods, but of men. So no one else is corrupted by divine power.” He spoke but a few more words before death claimed him.

Alm couldn’t move. The void within, which he’d felt since liberating Zofia Castle, widened into a maw. Upon taking in the engravings on the silver ring, warm tears fell from his eyes.

Two family members he never knew of before. Both gone. Either by his own hand or on his order. Nothing else played through his mind.

Someone approached him, but he didn’t look up. Soon, he heard Mycen speak. “I’ve no doubts Rudolf loved Berkut. Years of life lived together do indeed mean something. It’s impossible for them not to. They mean more than words can describe… but it makes revealing the truth so much harder. I would know.”

A hand gripped Alm’s arm. A memory of Mycen helping him up returned, also bringing to mind a bright day in Ram Village. It returned all the stronger when, in the present, Mycen did the same, aiding Alm to his feet. At last, they met each other’s eyes.

Any coldness Mycen showed at the castle had vanished, replaced by remorse. “I know you always wondered about your family. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a straight answer until now. Too late did I realize when I should’ve told you the truth. Just know I’ll stay with you until the end.”

 _Do you mean it?_ Alm opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t. Not when he puzzled over what to think of the knight even now. He opted to nod instead, gathered what bearings he could, and resumed leading.

A few select Rigelian soldiers took the bodies of Berkut and his fiancée back to the castle. Everyone else marched deeper into the temple.

* * *

A strange puzzle at the royal vault separated Alm from the troops, so he pressed on alone. While he ventured from room to room, conquering one challenge after the next, rumbles sounded from somewhere beyond. They grew louder in each new room, and Alm soon recognized them as the sounds of battle. A magical duel, in fact. If someone needed help ahead, he’d assist however he could.

At the second-to-last room, the rumbles stopped. Only the sounds of his own battle echoed off the walls, and those faded once he completed the fourth of the trials. Did another lie ahead, or no? Whatever the case, one final room awaited him.

In contrast to the other rooms in the underground temple, the royal vault carried blue-tinted shadows instead of the orange reflection of countless flames. The last room in the vault stretched wider than most, both in height and breadth. Darkness coated the room, save for two shapes. One, a large shape, rested somewhere further back.

The second, a smaller shape, was a familiar young woman lying beaten, scarred, and perhaps worse. A third shape, a sword, lay next to the woman’s right hand.

Alm froze, then broke into a mad rush to her side. “Celica!”

Dirt, bruises, and a cut marred her face, but she breathed. Alm helped her sit up, taking care not to jar her. His head nudged hers, and he whispered her name again.

 _Please be okay_. _Please, Celica_. _Don’t leave me alone_ …

After a few long moments, Celica groaned and turned her head. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “Alm…? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. I’m right here. What happened to you? Can you move?”

Her head dropped against his shoulder. She quivered while speaking. “Oh, Alm… I failed. I couldn’t save Mila. I’m so sorry…”

“What? What do you…?”

Celica choked on a sob before pointing to something past her—to the larger shape. A dragon skull, fossilized, with a blade resting atop, hilt up. Smaller chunks of white stone, distinct from the walls and ground, lay scattered around.

Alm’s breath caught. “Is that Mila? And the sword… the Kingsfang?”

Celica made a weak nod. Through shaking breaths, she explained what happened to her. With Rudolf distracted fighting the Deliverance, Duma Faithful fanatics hid Mila’s body away. When Celica’s group ascended to the top of Duma Tower, a trap separated her from her companions. An ambush put Celica in a tight spot, but Jedah saved her. Too late did she discover he’d arranged everything, from Mila’s transport to the trap at the tower, to isolate and kill her alongside the goddess. Celica made a narrow escape and tried to defend Mila, and she hit Jedah with a well-placed spell. He had attacked at the same moment, however, and it both wounded Celica and shattered Mila’s body.

“So that’s what I heard earlier.” Alm surveyed the dragon skull. “What about the Kingsfang? We can take it now, can’t we?”

“Mila said she sealed the sword with her herself. She must not want anyone using it. And now…”

“Is there a way to defeat Duma without the Kingsfang?”

“No. I’m sorry. I failed everyone. I failed you, too…”

He held her closer, feeling her pain as his own. “Don’t say that. You traveled the entire eastern half of the continent. You did everything you could. We’re together now. We’ll think of something.” Alm showed a smile. “You helped me before. Let me help you now, okay?”

He’d kept some of Faye’s salves in a pack on his belt, so he took one out and treated the more serious wounds. Thankfully, nothing looked fatal. After a moment, Celica used a healing spell on herself, but it proved weaker than receiving the spell from another mage. However, she could stand again with Alm’s assistance. They crept towards Mila’s skull.

Before Alm even reached for the Kingsfang, something flashed in the darkness. He turned and dove to the ground with Celica, who winced from her lingering injuries. A new figure emerged from the far end of the room—a sinister man adorned in red robes, limping but unyielding.

Celica gasped. “Jedah!”

“Truly, you must be chosen,” the robed man droned. “I figured you had perished, Bearer of Mila’s Brand. But then, this is why we double-check.”

Alm and Celica exchanged looks, and their next course of action required no discussion. While the former broke for the Kingsfang, the latter mustered the strength to deflect their opponent’s dark magic.

“You’re wasting your time, boy!” cried Jedah. “Mila sealed the Kingsfang herself, and she’s gone! None can take it now!”

Alm had no reason to believe the assertion, but neither did he know if he could dismiss it. He opted to try taking the sword anyway, anything at all to rectify the situation on their hands and save Valentia. Besides, if it failed, he’d lose Celica. In her current state, she wouldn’t hold out for long.

His hand gripped the hilt of the Kingsfang. Nothing happened. Not at first. Then his hand grew hot, right where his brand lay. A light emerged from the same spot, taking the same shape. Alm stood still out of bewilderment, unsure of what else to do. The light from his hand broke through several parts of the fossilized weapon, causing stone to flake off. Soon, Alm realized he could lift the sword—so he grabbed tighter and pulled.

Jedah gaped in surprise. “Duma’s Brand…? Impossible! No one should be able to unbind that blade!”

Soon, no trace of stone remained on the Kingsfang. It carried the same heft as the Royal Sword, so Alm twirled it into a proper sword grip with ease. Once the blade pointed up, the light coalesced at the tip. Jedah screamed as the light and a spell from Celica hit him, and the man disappeared. All went quiet.

Celica collapsed to her knees. However, while the light shone, her breathing evened out, the slump in her shoulders lifted, and her posture gained new strength. Alm slid beside her and watched the cuts and bruises disappear. The light faded, too, leaving them both in the darkness from before. Mila’s skull remained as stone.

“Are you okay?” Alm asked.

Celica answered with a nod and a smile.

“Good.” He let out a sigh of relief—the first bit of it he’d felt in a long while. Soon, though, they both looked upon the skull. “So… what just happened?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied.

Suddenly, Mila’s skull shimmered. An unknown voice rang off the walls. “Alm. Anthiese. Children of fate, bearers of the Brand. Inheritors of our wills.”

The new light floated into the air, changing into the visage of a humanoid woman with long green hair, a dress of white and green, long ears, and a reptilian tail. Whether through instinct or some unknown magic, the woman’s name came to Alm before she introduced herself.

“I am Mila,” said the visage. “Your kind call me goddess. Together with my brother, Duma, I shaped this land. Some have called me ‘Earth Mother,’ but no such power remains within me.”

Alm and Celica looked at each other, then at Mila. “What do you mean?” asked the latter.

“See well the Kingsfang, which you now hold. The ruler of the dragons, Naga, carved it from one of her own fangs to sever the gods, for she knew a creeping madness awaited at eternity’s end. It is a ruin all dragons share, and the end is one of total destruction. Thus did Naga bestow the Kingsfang upon Duma. She did so to prepare for the day our madness would drive the land to ruin, so the people might have a means to destroy us, and give them the hope they deserved. Yet, in my foolishness—in my own madness—I sealed the blade away to protect my brother. I loved him as we loved humans. Where we strayed, I cannot remember.”

Alm gripped Celica’s hand. _Even after Mila lost herself, she still thought of family_.

“Children of fate, you have overcome much to reach me here, and I thank you. You have shown me the strength possessed by humans. Perhaps your kind have long walked on your own without our aid. Perhaps I refused to see it… and alas, so did Duma. I entrust the Kingsfang to your care. I pray you will use it to free my brother from the depths of his pain. Let our remains bless the land one last time.”

The spirit of Mila vanished, and her skull crumbled. The pieces joined the others already on the ground. Celica knelt by them, shedding tears in silence.

Alm said her name. “You did it.”

She peered up at him and shook her head. “Did I? Was there no other way to help her? She seemed so calm just now.”

“It didn’t sound like it, according to her. At least she returned to her old self before dying.”

“True…” Celica rested one hand on what remained of the Earth Mother. “She also mentioned we’ve walked on our own without her or Duma for a while now. I set out to restore her and revive the land. I must’ve forgotten our own achievements along the way.” A quiet laugh escaped her as though to chastise herself. “How would we know ourselves without making our own paths? It seems so obvious, now that I’m thinking on it.”

Alm said nothing in part because she voiced some of his own thoughts. Furthermore, Celica completed her mission, even if not in the way anyone imagined. They could take Mila’s remains with them. And once they defeated Duma, they could do the same with his.

Celica rose and approached Alm, drawing close until they rested their foreheads together. He grasped her hand again and held tight. So long. He’d missed her and sensed she felt the same.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded, and they parted. Their hands fell from each other’s slowly. When a light appeared next to Mila’s body, both turned to see the Earth Mother’s sigil glowing bright on the ground. Alm noted its similarity to other sigils in the temple, symbols of Rigel and Duma which transported him and the army to the entrance of the royal vault. With any luck, Mila’s new sigil would take him and Celica to their companions.

Celica squeezed his hand. “Are you ready to go?”

“As ready as I can be,” replied Alm, but then released a drawn, tired sigh. “Actually… there’s a lot I have to tell you. So much I have to get off my chest. But we’ll have to talk later.”

“You mean about your identity and your family?”

“Yeah.” _How do you always figure it out so fast?_

She offered a warm smile. “Hang in there a little longer, okay? We’ll finish this soon.”

Alm nodded. “Let’s go, Celica. We have a whole lot of work ahead of us.”

“Yes, we do. Let’s.”

The two left the royal vault, and soon, they met up with the soldiers Alm brought, as well as Celica’s companions. Once they briefed both groups on the situation, everyone marched upon the altar of Duma.

* * *

How he went from feeling searing pain in every fiber of his being to near-complete numbness, he couldn’t recall. It happened, though, and it left him in utter darkness. He could see nothing but himself, resting under a dim red light.

 _Where am I? Wasn’t I somewhere else_? This felt true, but when he tried thinking on it, images flashed by in a massive blur. It also shot pain through his head as if an arrow struck him.

A sound echoed in front of him. Darkness reigned until a flicker of movement broke through. The movement continued, revealing its source as a figure coated in black mist. A familiar figure.

Himself. A twin. Identical.

The green hair, parted over the right eye; the same light skin tone; similar armor, colored black. A larger and wider cape, tattered. A headdress with horns. But the eyes looked wrong—dark as an abyss, broken by red pin lights. Above and behind this twin, a flicker. No, a visage. A dragon head, fading in and out.

A deep voice from the twin reverberated around, but also within. A voice like his own, but not. “State your name.”

 _My name_ …? Why couldn’t he remember? It was something simple, wasn’t it?

In a blink, his twin stood but an arm’s length away—and in the next instant, he lifted him from the invisible ground by the neck. The twin’s eyes grew brighter and more blood-red as they bore into him, his mind, his soul.

It hurt like nothing else. He wanted to look away, struggling from both the hand on his throat and the unseen force keeping him from turning at all. Finally, at least his eyes moved, ever so slightly to his right.

A second light shone. Gold, with a hint of blue. From it, a sound.

A girl’s voice. “Alm! Can you hear me? Snap out of it!”

He knew her voice. He knew _her_.

And the name, Alm. His name. His own name.

The dark twin whipped his head towards the girl’s voice. The gold light shimmered brighter, changing into a cross with pronged arms. It resembled a flower, or a tree. Alm kicked at his twin, but freedom eluded him until the light doused the whole empty field in gold.

Warm. Comforting. Safe.

The numbness faded, but the darkness returned bit by bit. Soon, a pair of arms held him. As his senses returned, he realized someone held him close. Someone he recognized, even if he couldn’t name her right away. Red hair, semi-curled; white clothes, gloves, and boots; a gold headband atop her head—nay, a crown. A dear friend. Radiant, from more than the golden glow. A promise…?

“Thank goodness, we have a chance.” Her voice, identical to the one he heard just before. Any relief she showed vanished under a sob, and she held him tighter. “Alm, do you recognize me? Please come back…!”

It hurt to hear her cry. Why? Her name settled on the tip of his tongue. _Oh_ —

His voice sounded hoarse when he spoke. “Celica?”

“Yes, it’s me. Listen. You have to fight it.”

“Fight what? How?”

“— can’t take you if you assert your own will. Your own self.”

 _My own self?_ Why did this sound familiar?

“You know who you are, don’t you?” she asked.

He tried to think back, but nothing solid came to mind. “I’m not sure I do,” he answered.

“Think back on your life. What do you remember? What have you done so far?”

Images flashed by, clearly this time. A dark castle, where a man and a woman held an infant carrying the faintest hint of green hair. The man later set the infant in the arms of a knight. The knight brought the infant far away, to a village.

Alm didn’t understand. Not quite. “How am I seeing this?”

“—’s peering deep into your soul,” said Celica, “looking at things that happened to you, even if you’d have no way to remember. If you’re not careful… will erase them. But if you look, too…”

“I’ll remember.” It explained the feelings running through him—instincts telling him he witnessed the truth.

In the village clearing, children played, including a green-haired boy. The boy later read books with a redheaded girl before a fire. In a flower field, the boy and the girl shared marks on their hands.

“The boy… that’s me,” Alm recognized. “And the girl… you.”

Celica smiled at him and nodded.

The recognition instilled warmth within. “We were good friends. We still are.”

“Yes. We are.” She took his hand in hers.

Tall, dark figures appeared in the woods near the village. They threatened the redheaded girl and the other children. Threatened him, until the knight from before rode in on horseback. He drove the figures back, but also took the redheaded girl away.

The images brought a new reminder. _I wanted to be stronger after this_. _To protect my friends_. _To find her again, and not feel helpless_.

The scene changed, and the green-haired boy sulked and cried with the other children. The knight returned, and the boy yelled over feeling lonely and hurt. The knight apologized and hugged him.

 _Grandpapa_. Alm’s childhood name for the man. _Grandfather_ , the current one. Both felt right, for the most part.

Shadows crept in, and so did the voice of his twin. “He lied. He wasn’t family. He made her leave and never said why. He pretended to care.”

Alm turned. The twin prowled in the darkness. Some force tugged at Alm, but he drew back, close to Celica.

“Don’t listen to him,” she said. “What else happened? What did it mean to you?”

Alm went to answer, but no words left him. Unsure of what to say, he moved with her. Away from the other him.

Wherever light shimmered, Alm followed. Other memories played out, and they grounded him bit by bit. He grew up training in the village with the other children. He tried to leave and explore many times, but Grandfather stopped him. A soldier arrived at the village one day, bringing an invitation.

“Here, I was…” Alm breathed deep, taking in the familiarity. “I was—am—friends with those kids. I’m the knight’s grandson—Sir Mycen’s. And the soldier… he’s part of an army.”

Fighting brigands. Marching on a grand castle. Saving lives. Feeling pride at every step. It felt _right_ , and he donned the mantle of _leader_. “I lead the Deliverance.”

Then came a talk with an old timer about Grandfather, and a void formed. Alm met Celica again but had to watch her leave soon after. As _leader_ , he drove out invaders. Picked up a golden sword, but no one else could. Why? Royal blood…

“No doubts then. The man we called Grandfather lied to us.” The dark twin, pulling again. “Tricked us into thinking him family, when he wasn’t.”

Alm moved somewhere else. Anywhere.

A new set of images flew. An ambush of dark magic. Taking solace with old friends, then later with Celica. A dark castle, and a tall man in red armor, the same place and person from the beginning. The man had grown gray—the father he never knew. Dead. Alm in front of him, screaming. It hurt to watch. To remember.

“I’m someone’s son. His son. Rudolf’s.” He believed this now. A sad fact, but also right.

“ _This_ is how you found your family?” Celica squeezed his hand tight. “I’m so sorry…”

“Our whole lives, a lie. Started by him,” said the twin.

The words brought pain with them. Terrible pain, starting from within. Alm stumbled and cried out. Celica called his name and held him.

Alm couldn’t speak his thoughts. _My life, a lie_ … _but it felt real_. _The choices I made, the friends I met, the people I helped_ …

“Everything you’ve done so far held meaning for you, didn’t it?” asked Celica.

 _Yes_ , he wanted to say. More than anything.

The pain intensified when another image appeared. A brunette man his own age, laughing and screaming mad. The same man bleeding out before him—before Alm. Cousins, they were, but for a brief time. A chance to know family, destroyed. _I didn’t want this_ …

The image shattered, replaced by the dark twin approaching. He repelled Celica, weakening her light, and seized Alm by the neck again. The red glow in his eyes brightened. “We are but weapons born for one purpose. That is the truth they kept from us. It is all we’re meant to be.”

Celica called from a long way off. “No, it’s not! You know the real answer. You’ve known all along!”

The twin’s grip tightened, and Alm struggled to breathe.

New images fell upon him, as if the twin forced them in. An underground shrine—no, a temple. Alm and Celica, leading their armies. A great dragon, whose emerald scales had lost all luster. Whose eyes glowed red like the dark twin’s. Between the dragon and the army, a man in red robes.

Everything came back, and Alm snapped to attention. _Oh_. _Right_. _Jedah_.

The sinister man fought them alongside Duma. Both summoned hordes of monsters. On his last legs, Jedah trapped Alm in a spell and set him before a phantasmal image of Duma’s third eye. The man in red robes laughed until Celica killed him. However, whatever he did still affected Alm. Then came searing pain, in every fiber of his being. Then near-complete numbness.

The blurred images he couldn’t decipher before returned, slower this time. They showed him standing before the armies, enshrouded in an aura darker and larger than Berkut’s. Much as he fought it, he raised his sword arm in sync with Duma. The downward strike they delivered shook the ground, the walls, the ceiling. The shockwave split the altar of Duma in half, leaving the armies on either side of a wide ditch. Mycen caught Alm by the shoulders, saying something he couldn’t recall. The aura flared, he lashed out, and the old knight flew into a few soldiers. Celica approached next.

“T-that’s right.” Alm choked out the words through the pain and a sob. “I hurt Grandfather… like I killed Rudolf, my father… and Berkut, my cousin…” _Just a weapon_ —

The twin gripped harder. Loomed larger.

“Celica, where…?” Wait. If they were still at the altar, if he couldn’t control himself— “No, don’t come closer!”

She replied, again from a distance. Yet somehow, she also felt close by. How could she be both close and not? “Don’t worry. Alm, you know who you are. You do.”

“We are a weapon, meant for battle,” said his twin. “Family… allies… They’ll betray us, and we’ll crush them all. We need no name. They will know our might. Only power holds meaning. Only strength holds sway.”

No, not his twin, Alm realized. _Everything I_ don’t _want to be_. The memories of his own life cemented it. The long-standing void shrank, and with it came renewed strength. He himself shoved the twin back, and at long last, his mind cleared.

The darkness burned away, letting him see with his own eyes. The bone-like structures of the Temple of Duma returned. Alm gasped for breath as if emerging from water. Celica held him in a fierce hug, but then she parted enough to show an exhausted, tearful smile. Behind her, the armies stood ready but hesitant. Something lingered in his left hand—the Kingsfang. His shield hung on the opposite arm.

From within, the dark twin’s presence lurked much too close. Duma’s presence latched onto his soul like the dragon’s claws pierced the ground. Though a great power surged within him, the presence threatened to overtake him again at any second. Visages of his dark twin flickered in and out of the corner of his eye.

Celica’s face fell. “Alm?”

He breathed deep. His voice sounded a bit hoarse, but otherwise normal. “I’m okay. I know who I am.”

Her smile returned. “You figured it out?”

“Yeah… and someone needs a reminder.”

He peered over his shoulder, but it took staggering to his own feet and turning to bring Duma into view. The dragon leered back, and the two breathed as one.

The young leader advanced and gripped the Kingsfang tighter. “My name is Alm. I was born in Rigel to Emperor Rudolf, raised in Zofia by Sir Mycen. I’ve led the Deliverance this far, and I won’t quit now. And only _I_ decide who I am and who I choose to be!”

On the last word, he threw the shield. Duma’s power coursed through him, but he fought its influence easier now. He broke into a run and closed the gap in seconds. Right before a maw of fangs met its mark, Alm leaped—farther and higher than he ever dreamed—and raised the Kingsfang over his head. The blade plunged into Duma’s third eye, bringing the dragon’s entire head down, followed by the rest of the body. The impact forced Alm back, and he would’ve tumbled straight to the ground if someone hadn’t caught him.

Celica again. She didn’t carry a literal glow, but she might as well have.

The noise died down. Alm dropped to his knees, striving to stay in Celica’s embrace.

Duma’s movements slowed, but a voice emerged from his draconic form. Though the same as the dark twin’s, it didn’t carry the young leader’s own voice as part of it. “So be it, Alm. I leave Valentia to you and Anthiese, her heroes. Take from us what lessons you will, and shape her into a land to remember. Make her strong like Duma, and fill her with Mila’s love. Let our grave mistakes serve as warnings of where not to tread as you lead your people forth. Now, we will sleep, and never again shall you disturb our slumber.”

A layer of stone spread over Duma’s body, starting from where the Kingsfang landed. While this occurred, the presence of the War Father faded from Alm until it vanished. Once all of Duma turned to stone, Alm felt free. Fatigued. Lightheaded.

“We did it,” he told Celica, then gestured to Duma. “And, uh… he’s gone. It’s just me now.”

“Oh, Alm…” Celica hugged him, sniffed, and nuzzled her head against his. “Thank goodness!”

A familiar voice rang out, followed by rapid footsteps. Mycen. “Alm, are you all right? Say something!”

“He’s fine, just tired,” Celica answered.

Mycen appeared, placing a hand on each of them. The old knight looked scared. Terrified, even. Not knowing what else to do, Alm smiled for the man who raised him. Celica let go, and Mycen held him next.

The younger man’s eyelids grew heavy. Speaking proved hard, and he slurred the one word he managed to say. “Grandfather…?”

“It’s okay, lad. Everything’s okay. Welcome back.” Was Mycen crying? Didn’t seem like him.

Voices spoke from somewhere close. All from Ram Village. Warmth grew as others gathered around, and Alm relaxed.

Soon, he slept.

* * *

When Alm opened his eyes, an unknown room surrounded him. Though dark bricks and red drapes might’ve appeared imposing on another day, the sunlight pouring in from the windows gave them a welcoming air. As for himself, he lay in a bed. It felt odd, and not because he hadn’t seen one before. All the months spent marching made a soft, warm bed almost alien.

Warmer spots on the blanket indicated where the sunlight hit. The room must’ve been part of Rigel Castle, given the similar coloring. He accessed the Temple of Duma through the castle, so it made sense. Whoever brought him here had removed his armor and other equipment, leaving him in his long shirt and pants.

Taking care with each movement, he sat up and saw it—six familiar faces, all sleeping in chairs circling the end of the bed. From left to right, Kliff and Faye rested against each other; Tobin, slouched and head tilted; Gray, snoring with his head thrown back; Mycen, eyes shut but arms crossed; and Celica, right next to Alm, waking up.

“Hello,” she whispered, breaking into a smile. “How do you feel?”

Alm peered at his hands and ran through a mental checklist of items. Pain? None. Fatigue? Present, but faint. Aches? Nowhere. Fever or chill? No trace of either. As for his missing items—including his shield and the Royal Sword—someone had set them on a rack in the corner. He went on to answer, “I’m okay. A little tired, but otherwise… yeah. And you?”

“The same as you.”

“How long was I out?”

“Almost a full day. The battle against Duma took a lot out of you. Luckily, you weren’t hurt. We carried you and the injured back to Rigel Castle, where we are now. One of the knights said you were born in this room.”

Alm nodded, giving the room a second look with the newfound knowledge in mind. In a different lifetime, it could’ve been his. A strange but interesting prospect.

Everyone’s breathing shifted, and Gray in particular snorted as he woke and straightened out. By contrast, Mycen made minimal extra movement in opening his eyes and unfolding his arms. Bright smiles appeared on their faces.

They all checked in as okay, even Mycen. Apparently, Alm’s inadvertent attack jostled him no worse than any other charge the elder knight had ever endured. According to the others, Alm made no direct hits upon any of the soldiers. In fact, he appeared to aim away from them, struggling with himself the entire time. Duma made similar unstable movements and thus didn’t unleash his full wrath. Celica had taken it as a sign Alm retained some grip on his sense of self, even if no one could tell by how much. Thus, she approached and utilized her priestess training to reach him.

“Jedah tried to offer your soul to Duma,” she explained. “He’d just started the ritual when I struck him down, but even then, all we could do was hope you’d hear us and fight back.”

Alm recalled enough of the battle to know they spoke true, but the memories felt distant and surreal. After listening to each side of the story, he nodded to Celica. “I heard you. I’m not sure about anyone else. If you interrupted whatever Jedah did, then it must be why I didn’t lose myself then and there.” He shuddered and fell into her hug. “But it was close. I almost forgot my own name.”

“Easily the biggest scare of our lives,” said Tobin, sounding subdued. “We already kind of worried you’d die beforehand, but what happened during the last battle… we had no clue we could lose you like _that_. Not until the possibility slapped us in the face.”

“I’m glad it never padded out for the worst,” Gray added. “What would we do without you? Oh, and by the way? We know none of those attacks were your fault, so don’t go blaming yourself, you hear?”

 _A little late there_ , Alm thought, but he knew what his friend meant and nodded. He straightened but looked at no one.

“You didn’t hurt me much,” said Mycen, “but I did wonder if it reflected something else. Something you didn’t tell me. Given our talk in the throne room…” He sighed and cast his eyes down. “No. Perhaps the real mistake was pushing you further ahead when you needed longer to accept what you learned.”

Almost on reflex, Alm made a small shrug. “You said we were running out of time, right? So—”

Mycen delivered a pointed look. “Be honest, lad. Are you mad at me?”

Alm reflected on what happened after Rudolf fell. The talk he had with Mycen, the storm of emotions running through him, what he felt as the conversation went on—then compared it to now. At length, he breathed deep. “I _was_ angry. I could see why you did it, but I still felt deceived. I didn’t know what to say to you. I wasn’t even sure if I should call you ‘grandfather’ anymore… but I also hated thinking that. I think, when I hurt you, I realized why.” He met the elder knight’s gaze. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Mycen showed a small but noticeable smile. His posture loosened somewhat, too. “I meant what I said after Berkut fell: Years of life lived together mean something, and a very great deal of it. You will always be my grandson, Alm. You and Celica are like blood to me. I wouldn’t have known the joys of family had I not met you.”

Alm jerked towards him like an eager child. “Then, let’s stay a family. Like we’ve always been.”

“I would have it no other way.” The slightest glistening appeared in the elder’s eyes.

Gray raised his hand, grinning wide. “Don’t forget us! You’re our brother, like it or not!”

“Definitely.” Tobin gestured to the whole group. “I mean, hey, you were my brothers and sisters before I had brothers and sisters!”

“You should’ve told us you were having this whole identity crisis. We would’ve given you this lecture much sooner if you had. You really could’ve used it.” Kliff shook his head but smiled. “You and Celica both, keeping things from us when you never had to. Thinking you’re alone when we’re right here…”

“I couldn’t tell just anyone my real name.” Celica turned sheepish. “But on some other facts… well, yes, I could’ve spoken up. We’ll make sure we don’t forget from now on, won’t we?” She gave Alm the slightest nudge, and he nodded again.

Faye bobbed her head. “You can’t solve all your problems by yourself. I would know.” Her hands dropped to her lap, and she leaned a bit closer. “The point is, no matter our actual blood ties, we’re family.”

“Now and always,” said Mycen.

“We all love you,” Celica added.

Warmth welled within, uplifting and assuring. Tears fell, and Alm smiled through them. Celica held him, and he held her in turn. In time, he found his voice. “Thank you.”

The void disappeared, forever filled.

Here, with his family, he no longer felt alone.

* * *

The decades after the war shaped the rest of his life. Alm couldn’t quite wrap his head around being called _Albein Alm Rudolf_ , _Prince Albein_ , or _Emperor Rudolf II_. As far as he could see, he’d never carried any other name but _Alm_ , and so, not long after the war ended, people took to calling him _Prince Alm_. Though leadership continued to come as second nature, learning to lead during peacetime proved difficult. Yet learn he did, and the word _prince_ soon felt as familiar as _grandson_ , _brother_ , _friend_ , and _leader_.

Other names for him cropped up, of course. _The unknown prince_ , some said. _Rudolf’s long-lost son_ , said others. Less often, _usurper_ , although some in Rigel meant it as a compliment of all things. On the advice of Mycen and a Rigelian general, the details of how Rudolf and Berkut met their ends stayed private, announcing only that they died in battle. It invited speculation nonetheless, but most people expressed relief at venturing into a godless era with a competent leader or two. Alm thus kept his grief to himself and his family.

The early controversies died down after Alm and Celica accompanied each other in burying the remains of the Earth Mother and the War Father. Contrary to the countries they founded, Rigel received Mila and placed her near the heart of the country; meanwhile, Zofia received Duma, placing him in a similar place. By coincidence, the lands in both nations experienced rich harvests in the same year Duma and Mila’s faiths combined into one. The people welcomed the final blessing of the gods with open arms.

Zofia’s people clamored for their Princess Anthiese to marry. Echoes of such cries followed Prince Alm in both Zofia and Rigel. The courts of the two nations arranged for the young royals to marry, though Alm and Celica couldn’t imagine a better match for themselves. Their marriage united the nations into the One Kingdom of Valentia, and from then on, they were _King Alm_ and _Queen Celica_ , husband and wife. Their close friends and family kept in contact no matter where they traveled. Together with the soldiers who fought beside them, they all worked to build the new nation.

As Valentia grew more unified during their reign, Alm and Celica grew as the monarchs of the new kingdom. New names accompanied them as well, such as _Duma_ and _Mila reborn_ or _the gods’ chosen_. However, none meant as much to the royal couple as _father_ and _mother_ with the birth of their children. The collection of names grew to include _grandfather_ and _grandmother_ as they approached the twilight of their years.

Alm passed on first. Celica joined him not even five years later. When they both had gone to the world beyond, the whole of Valentia mourned the passing of the Saint King and Blessed Queen. The One Kingdom’s north and south betrayed no signs of falling into a war like the one preceding the great unity. The people knew how to reach their goals and focus their drives while keeping sound their hearts and souls, a burgeoning legacy many saw as a continuation of what Duma and Mila, respectively, had wanted for humanity.

As the gods left the land to Alm and Celica, so, too, did the One Kingdom’s founding royals leave Valentia to their three children: their eldest as Queen of the One Kingdom, their second as Princess of the North, and their youngest as Prince of the South. Though the next thousand years brought with them moments of strife, they also brought many a great success. Most of all, they displayed a strong history of human achievement.

In his old age, though, Alm felt most satisfied knowing he’d chosen his own path. This, more than anything, would show people how he defined himself. What anyone else called him in his era or beyond mattered little. He knew who he was, even when his time among the living came to an end.


End file.
